


what he needs

by liionne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Succubi & Incubi, halloween fic, too lazy to write the slash tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“i just got turned into an incubus or a succubus and i’m like the least smooth and most self-conscious person on the planet so i’m literally starving because i don’t know how to seduce people” AU. BONUS POINTS IF THEY ARE A VIRGIN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what he needs

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I saw that prompt on tumblr, and I knew it would fit these two babies absolutely perfectly! Beta'd by myself, but as usual I wrote it and then decided I hated it, and I may have missed a few mistakes.
> 
> Warning that there is some mention of almost dying and being very thin, but I wasn't sure what to tag that with, so it's written down here.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, and huffs out a breath. He turns again, just a little, so that he can pull his shirt colour away to look at the two little bite marks on his neck. When Brock had first bit him, Steve had assumed that meant he was a vampire. But when Brock had laughed and told him that no, his little virgin ass is an incubus now, and that’s what Steve gets for leading him on for so long (a week), Steve had decided that he would much, much rather be a vampire.

He’s going to starve. That much he knows for sure. Because he’s twenty four and a virgin and he’s half deaf and he’s a hundred pounds dripping wet. He’s not the most seductive guy in the world.

Who knows? Maybe he can find another incubus, or a succubus, and they can strike up a deal. Can they do that?

He doesn’t even know if they can’t do that.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and then, because he’s angry and he’s upset, he reaches out and punches a wall. It stings, and he’s 100% sure he’s just broken his knuckle, but he never goes to the hospital until he’s half dead so he’s not going to go now. And who knows, maybe incubuses (incubi?) have special healing powers. Knowing his luck, probably not.

Brock had told him only the basics: have sex or you’ll die. You having sex with someone doesn’t kill them like all the myths do, that’s just dumb. You can’t tell anyone what you are (for the simple fact that, if you do, they’ll ‘laugh in your scrawny face and send your ass right off to the loony bin’).

Steve scrubs his face with his hand (his good hand), and stands. He needs a coffee, and he knows just the place to go to.

The coffee shop on the corner of his street has been there since time began, Steve is pretty sure of that. It was a diner in the earlier half of the 20th century, and then when the McDonalds two blocks away opened, they converted into a coffee shop. Trade lagged for a little while when a Starbucks opened up next to McDonalds, but they put in a few house plants and some fairy lights and now it attracts hipsters like there’s no tomorrow.

But that’s not why Steve goes (despite the square framed glasses, the sleeve of tattoos and the general hipster-ish dress, that is actually only because he’s too poor to shop anywhere but thrift stores). No, Steve goes for Bucky.

Steve met Bucky when he was in his Junior year of college at the community college down the street; Bucky had, originally, been going to Princeton to study Law, but it had been very much not his choice, and very much the choice of his step-dad, Pierce. He’d dropped out of a semester of total unhappiness, and then bummed around for a few years; he went to Russia and Eastern Europe, met some people, made some money, and came home. Pierce had threatened to disown him but thankfully, by the time Bucky had returned, Winifred had got shot of him and offered to pay for Bucky’s college, as long as he stuck in, and helped her out a little. And that’s how Bucky Barnes came to be studying Chemistry & Biomechanical Engineering at NYU, and working part-time at that little café on the corner.

Steve has now been a fully-fledged artist for two years, and Bucky is now a junior; the oldest in his class, apparently, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. It hasn’t stopped him yet.

And to be quite honest, over the three years they’ve known each other, he’s become Steve’s best friend. They see each other every day, they go out together, they talk about anything and everything under the sun.

Steve might just have the biggest crush on him.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says in a sing-song voice, and Steve finds himself already smiling as walks up to the counter.

“Hey,” He says, smiling at Bucky. Bucky is already making his usual; he has black coffee as strong as Bucky dares to make it, and he usually has a few sugars thrown in for good measure, too. “Busy day?”

“Nope.” Bucky says, popping the p as he pushes a steaming white mug towards Bucky. “Boring as hell, but y’know – Wednesdays.”

Steve gives a nod as Bucky yells through to his invisible colleague that he’ll be going on his break now, as he always does when Steve comes in. He heads over to their usual little table in the corner of the shop, and Steve follows, like some kind of under-developed golden retriever.

“How’s college?” Steve asks, settling down in his seat and pushing his glasses up his nose. His secret weighs on him like a tonne of bricks; he’s Atlas, the entire world resting on his shoulders, and the weight is almost too heavy to bear. So he shifts the focus onto Bucky – he’s good at doing that.

“Same as always.” Bucky shrugs. “I’m about 98% sure I’m going to fail.”

“You say that all the time,” Steve points out. “And then you ace it.”

Bucky ponders that for a moment, and then he gives a wry grin. “Maybe.”

Steve rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee, because he knows Bucky isn’t done there.

“Five more years, Stevie. Gimme five more years and I’ll have engineered you a brand new set of lungs.” He nods. “Then we can start working on a new heart.”

“I’ll believe it when I say it.” Steve says, sardonic, but the words alone make his crappy heart melt a little. He smiles at Bucky, that secret smile he never gives to anyone else, and as the conversation lulls, he knows Bucky’s gonna ask about him. This is just how their conversations work.

“How’re you?” He asks, sipping his coffee. “how’s Brock?”

Steve’s blood runs cold at the very mention of that asshole’s name, but he just blinks, and tries to act cool. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh.” Steve squints; Bucky looks oddly pleased. “Oh, well, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Nothing much.” Steve lies. “He wanted me to put out, I guess.”

Not a lie; that is what Brock wanted. Steve just can’t tell Bucky why, which is really only an omission of the truth.

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, all but slamming his mug down on the tabletop. “What an asshole; y’know I didn’t wanna say anything but that guy was a total ass—“

“—Yeah, he was—“

“—But I thought you liked him, so I didn’t wanna say—“

“—It was nice of you—“

“But I’m glad he’s gone.” Bucky concludes. “I should find ‘im and punch him in the god damn mouth.”

Steve gives a small smile, and reaches out to pat the back of Bucky’s hand.

But see, that’s when he notices it. He leans in close and he can smell something; something sweet, something soft and sunshiney and beautiful. He breathes in and he smells summer in Brooklyn and iced lemonade on the street corner. He’s never smelled that before, but he likes it.   
Maybe it’s an incubus thing.

“Never mind, huh?” He says, after a pause that’s way too long, and then he looks down. His hand is still touching Bucky’s, and he pulls it back hastily. Bucky gives him a look that tells Steve is being a fucking weirdo, and then shakes his head a little.

“James? We got a customer, you’re gonna have to get back to work.”

It’s a shout from the kitchen, Pepper’s voice. Bucky rolls his eyes and gives Steve a playful smile, but they both know that Bucky loves pepper to death; if only because she’s the best boss he could have ever asked for. Her fiancé Tony leaves something to be desired, but they can both get past that.

“Coming!” He calls, and stands. Steve watches him, and Bucky shakes off his apron Steve can smell it again, a little waft of sunshiney, summery scent. It turns Steve’s stomach to mush, and makes him shiver lightly; definitely not a new aftershave from Bucky, then. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll try – got that project for Erskine.” Steve shrugs, genuinely disappointed – he has a tendency to disappear into his studio for days at a time, but he does miss Bucky. He does. “But I’ll see you at the weekend for Coney Island?”

“Sure.” Bucky nods, and he beams. “I’ll pick you up.”

Steve grins at him, but as soon as Bucky has ducked into the kitchen his smile has gone. He drains his coffee, leaves his money (Bucky always says as a starving artist he has no need to pay, but Steve always does), and leaves.

He needs to see Brock.

 

~*~

 

“Alright, tell me more, you asshole.”

Steve glares at him, standing in the doorway of Brock’s company courtesy apartment. There’s thunder his gaze, a storm in his tiny frame, trembling with pure rage. Brock just gives him that smirk, and arches his eyebrows.

“About what, sweetheart?”

“You know what.” Steve hisses.

Brock’s smirk does waver a little, and then he stands aside, allowing Steve to stomp into his apartment.

“Coffee?” Brock offers, but Steve is still seething, so he shakes his head and snaps, “Just tell me what you know!”

Brock sighs, and moves to the kitchenette; Steve had only ever been to his apartment once before, but it’s just as he remembers it, completely white, sterile, open-plan and not very lived in. Brock pours himself a cup of coffee, takes a sip, and when he judges that Steve is about to launch himself over the island and rip his face off, he folds his arms.  
“Tell me what you wanna know, Rogers.”

So Steve does. He fires question after question at Brock, who looks at him with no hint of emotion, save for irritation, in his eyes, until Steve’s peters away to nothing.

“You finished?” he asks. When Steve nods, he takes a breath. “Alright. You gotta feed at least once every three weeks, or you’ll starve to death. And by feeding, all I mean is having sex. You can still eat, that’ll keep you sort of strong, but sex is now like water to you. Got that? You need it to live. No, it doesn’t hurt your partner, and no, it won’t turn them into an incubus. You gotta bite them for that – enough to draw blood. Don’t be afraid to give ‘em a good hickey.” He gives a lewd grin, and Steve’s nose wrinkles. “An incubus can have sex with an incubus. All you gotta do is come, Stevie boy. Then you’ll be fightin’ fit for another three weeks. But no playing with your right hand, got that? It won't work.”

Steve takes all of that in, and stores it all away. He rubs the back of his neck, and looks up at Brock.

“Okay, so—one more thing.” Brock says nothing, so he continues: “I noticed this… thing. Like… a smell. I leaned in to someone, to tell them—something, and I smelled something, like, uh—“

“Pheromones.” Brock answers, right off the bat, thankfully putting an end to Steve’s stammering. “Whoever you were leaning into’s got a thing for you, Stevie boy. I’d maybe jump on that before you starve to death.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles; Brock must be wrong, because there’s no way Bucky likes him. Of course not. Bucky’s his friend, nothing more.

“Alright.” Steve huffs. “Thanks.”

Brock gives him that signature smirk, and raises his shoulders in a shrug. “Lemme know if you’re ever near death, Steve-O. You know I’m more than happy to volunteer.”  
Steve rolls his eyes, and leaves before Brock can make any more suggestions. He’s got work to do, and stuff to think about, and the last thing he needs is Brock’s dick haunting his thoughts.

 

~*~

 

Steve sits in his studio for a few days, and sketches. He does have a project to complete, and he manages to get it done pretty quickly; quickly enough for him to be able to go to Coney Island with Bucky at the weekend. But by the time the weekend has arrived, it’s been four days, and Steve is looking a little… gaunt. His skin is somewhat paler than usual, the bags under his eyes maybe a little deeper. Hopefully, Bucky won’t notice.

But of course, he notices about five seconds after Steve has walked out of his apartment.

“Stevie – you okay pal? We can just stay home if you’re sick.” He says, worried, but Steve brushes him off.

“I’m fine.” He says, already beginning to walk downstairs, dragging Bucky with him as he goes. “I just finished working on a big project, that’s all; guess I tired myself out. But I’m good; wouldn’t be out here If I wasn’t.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.” Bucky mutters, but he doesn’t argue any more.

Coney Island isn’t too hard to get to, not really, and they’re there before Steve can really feel too awful; he does feel kind of weak, and he does feel kind of hungry, but he ate the entire contents of the fridge the other day and he only felt hungrier afterward.

He knows what he needs. He’s just… Well. He just has no idea how to go about getting it.

“Thunderbolt first, c’mon loser,” Bucky grins, hauling Steve over to the ride with a look on his face that screamed oversized child. Steve doesn’t mind, though. Rides might not be his thing, and maybe he shouldn’t ride them with his having a weak heart thing, but it’s all worth it to see how happy Bucky is.

The ride nearly stops said weak heart, but they manage to stagger off just fine. Bucky, who’s vibrating out of his skin right now, still stops to check on Steve. It’s nice, Steve thinks. He generally hates people checking up on him, but Bucky’s attention is pretty much always welcomed.

“You sure you’re okay, Stevie?” He asks, an arm around Steve’s shoulder. He’s warm, and it makes Steve’s stomach flipflop as he fights the desire to burrow into said warmth. “How about we take a break? We can go to the candy shop, just take a walk around, we—“

“Bucky,” Steve scolds, looking up at him, his face practically pressed into Bucky’s side with how close the other is holding him. “I’m fine, okay?”

Bucky looks down at him, and Steve swears their faces are just inches apart, mere centimetres, in fact, and it sets his heart racing. He smells that smell, the sunshine-y, sweet one that seems to roll off of Bucky whenever they’re close, and Steve’s stomach lurches when he remembers what Brock said. Surely he must be wrong. Surely.

Steve doesn’t know, but Bucky gives this odd little smile, and then he nods, pulling away and taking hold of Steve’s hand. “Let’s go, then!” He says, tugging him through the crowd.

He throws up after staggering off the Cyclone, and after that, Bucky makes them go home. Steve doesn’t mind; they had a pretty good afternoon, and he feels like he could sleep for a week, now. Bucky drops him off at home, but not before he grips Steve by the shoulders, his hands firm.

“Steve,” he says, dropping the usual nickname. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Steve nods. “I promise.” He murmurs, smiling up at Bucky. He’s not expecting the hug that he’s swept up into, but he deals with it, wrapping his arms around Bucky. Bucky, who smells so good, and is just so warm.

Steve wants him so goddamn badly.

But he lets him go with a wave and a smile, and he staggers inside. He doesn’t make it to the bed, but instead, he flops onto the couch, and he sighs. He’s going to have to do something about this soon, but eh decides to think about it in the morning. For now, he’s sleeping.

 

~*~

 

He sees Bucky almost every day, and almost every day, he wants him even more. Don’t get him wrong; Steve has wanted Bucky for so long, but right now, it’s almost all he can think about. That sunshine-y smell gets stronger every damn day, and every time he inhales it Steve nearly melts, his toes curling and his stomach roiling. He’s not eating anymore; he lost his appetite a few days ago, and now it’s kind of hard to even think about eating. There’s only one thing he needs, and his scrawny virgin ass is going to die before he gets it.

Bucky drops by his apartment about two weeks after the whole being turned into an incubus thing, and he’s thinner and paler than ever, the bags under his eyes now a deep purple. He knows it’s bad. He knows it’s going to get hard to explain, but he just has to hope that Bucky will believe him when he says he’s okay.

Steve kind of has to believe that too.

“Stevie—“ bucky smiles, but when he sees Steve he stops dead. “Steve.” He repeats, his voice a little more grave, a little more wobbly. “Steve, we need to talk.”

Steve nods morosely, and steps aside in order to let Bucky in.

Bucky takes off his coat and hangs it up, and then he puts his hands on his hips. "Steve, why aren't you eating?"

Steve's cheeks flush just a little, and he looks away. If only he could tell Bucky the truth. If only he could own up to it. He shakes his head, limp hair falling into his eyes. "I am eating."

"Your cheekbones say otherwise." Bucky says, his voice far harder than it usually is. He sounds mad, and upset, and Steve wishes he could make it all go away but he just _can't_. Bucky hisses through his teeth like he knows Bucky's lying, and he glares at him. "Steve, I know you get sick a lot, but if you're sick right now you need to _tell me_ , because this is scaring me, okay? You're thin. _Really_ thin. And you're the best friend I have, the only friend, so I need you--"

"I'm sick." Steve nods. "I am, I'm sick."

He just can't stand here, listening to Bucky talk about how he can't lose Steve, how he can't see Steve hurt himself like this, or whatever else he's going to say. Steve likes Bucky. He really likes him. He doesn't want to upset him, or hurt him. That's not his intention at all.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asks, wringing his hands. Now Steve feels almost worse; Bucky looks like he wants to cry. "Can they fix it?"

"It can't be fixed." He murmurs. "I mean-- it can, but--" He shakes his head, and waves a thin, boney hand. He can't explain. Bucky won't ever believe him.

"What have they gotta do?" Bucky asks, stepping forward and seizing Steve by the shoulders. That smell, sunshine-y sweet and strong as hell invades Steve's nostrils, and he has to try and ignore it, turning his face away and shaking his head.

"It-- It's nothing they can do." He murmurs, head shaking. "It's-- it's something I gotta do, but I can't--"

"I can help," Bucky says, pulling Steve closer. "I can help; please, just tell me. Tell me, Stevie."

Steve looks up into those blue-grey eyes, and considers it. What would Bucky do if Steve told him? How would he react? Part of him thinks that Bucky may well believe him and offer to help, because Bucky's good like that, but the majority of Steve thinks that if he were to tell him, Bucky would laugh, or be mad, or would run a mile. Maybe all three, and not necessarily in that order. But Bucky is looking at him with such worry in his eyes, such sincerity, that Steve can't help it. He looks up at Bucky, and clears his throat. "Do-- do you remember Brock?"

Bucky's brow creases. "Of course." He nods.

Steve runs his tongue over dry lips, and says. "Brock... Brock only wanted to sleep with me because-- because he..."

A sigh heaves its way out of Steve's chest, and he pulls back, faces the walls for two seconds. He's gonna do it. He's gonna just come out and say it.   
He turns around, and pulls the collar of his jumper down to reveal the two little bite marks on his neck, and he watches as Bucky only looks more confused. "Brock was an incubus, and when I wouldn't sleep with him, he made me one too."

Bucky's eyes have gone a fraction wider, but they have also gone a little glazed; is he even on the same planet as Steve anymore?

"That--" He stammers, and he looks at Steve for the first time in about five minutes. "That still doesn't explain the fact that you're _dying_ \--"

"I've, uh..." A blush spreads across Steve's cheeks, and he looks away. "I've gotta have sex to survive. That's what Brock said. I didn't think I believed him at first, but uh-- I do now."

Bucky is still giving him that wide-eyed look. "Couldn't you just-- I mean, surely _you_ \-- or just, uh--"

Steve doesn't know what any of that was meant to mean, but he figures it has something to do with just finding anyone for a one night stand, or something like that, so he says, "Look at me, Buck. I'm not exactly very appealing right now, am I? There's no way I could pick anyone up in a club, or a bar, or on the god damn street. I'm gonna die and I think we've both just gotta live with that."

He sort of wants to cry, but he just crosses his arms over his chest instead, and he gets on with it. He can't take looking at Bucky any longer, though, so he directs his gaze away, to the floor. Those big grey eyes were boring into his very soul and Steve knew that Bucky didn't believe him, not really, or if he did there was nothing he could do about it (which really only made Steve feel _worse_ , to know that he'd been crushing on Bucky for so long, only to find out at the end of his relatively short life that Bucky did not reciprocate), so he turned his gaze away. Which, in all fairness, is probably why he didn't see the three very determined steps Bucky took towards him, and why he was startled when Bucky took his face in both of his hands, and kissed him like his life depended on it.

Which, he supposes, it does.

"You aren't going to die." Bucky says, leaning in to kiss him again, just as had and just as long. Steve, whose arms had fallen away from his chest and was now standing, dumbfounded and limp, was too shocked to move. "You aren't."

He pulls Steve closer and Steve is sure is heart is about to stop. He has the good sense to begin kissing Bucky back, pushing back against those full lips that he's dreamed about more times than he can count, arms coming up to wind around Bucky's neck, anchoring him to the other. Bucky hauls him up and Steve wraps his legs around his waist, desperate to be close to him. What was driving him now was like an instinct, running his tongue along the seam of Bucky's lips, moaning softly when they part under his. Bucky walks him through to the bedroom, places him down on the bed, and moves to kneel over him, pinning Steve to the mattress with his own body.

"You--" Steve moans softly as Bucky kisses down his jaw, and his neck. "You don't have to do this."

"I do." Bucky murmurs against the skin of Steve's neck. "And I _want_ to."

Now that right there is enough to blow Steve's mind, but what really does it is when Bucky slips a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, and palms the front of his underwear. Thin hips jolt, and Steve pulls Bucky down for a hard, passionate kiss, not letting go until it's absolutely necessary to.

"Shirt." He demands. "Shirt, shirt--" Until Bucky helps him pull it off, and Steve grins at what he sees; he always _knew_ Bucky was pretty damn toned, but it's nice to see it in the flesh. Steve runs his fingertips along the lines of hard muscles, and he bites his lip. Bucky wants him. Bucky, this absolute freaking Adonis, wants /him/.   
Steve demands the pants off next, and it just keeps getting better from there.

 

~*~

 

Steve wakes up in the morning with heavy limbs and a little bit of confusion; his cheek is mashed against against something, something warm and soft but firm, and he has no idea what that thing could be. He slowly peels his eyelids open to find his cheek pressed to Bucky's chest, and those strong arms around him. Steve smiles softly, burrowing further into him. _Yeah_. Now he remembers. Now he remembers everything.

Bucky shifts beneath him, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve. He wakes after a moment, and he looks down, meeting Steve's gaze with a gentle smile. "Hey," he murmurs. "You look better."

"I do?" Steve asks. He hasn't had a chance to look at himself yet, too tangled up in Bucky. "All thanks to you, I guess."

Bucky smiles softly, but says nothing else. He kisses Steve's forehead, and before Steve can help himself he finds himself speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Last night... That was my first time."

He feels bucky shift beneath him, and he looks down, startled. "It was?"

Steve nods, embarrassment curling in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah."

"Oh." Bucky murmurs, after a short pause. "Wow. I wish I had've made it better, then. Next time I'll make it _so_ much better. If-- If you want there to be a next time." He stammers. "I get it if you don't, Stevie--"

"No, I... I do." Steve nods, looking up at him. "I want there to be a next time. A lot of next times." He can see Bucky beginning to smile, and Steve can only smile back. "I kinda really like you, so..."

Bucky grins, his eyes bright. "I kinda really like you too." he murmurs, leaning down to kiss Steve, and Steve is only too happy to kiss him back.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts, questions and comments can be sent to [my tumblr](http://achaiion.tumblr.com)


End file.
